


Something You Didn't Even Have a Name For

by romanticalgirl



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Consensual Kink, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 08:44:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5410409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey wants something, and he doesn't expect Ian to give it to him. Ian is full of surprises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something You Didn't Even Have a Name For

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magneticdice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magneticdice/gifts).



“Are you sure about this?”

Mickey rolls his eyes. _Again_. “Yes, I’m fucking sure. C’mon.”

“It’s just...not really _you_.”

Mickey takes a deep breath and sits down on the coffee table across from Ian. “I’m the one asking for it. Therefore it is me. Because I’m asking.”

“But...”

“No. No buts, Ian. If you don’t want to because you don’t want to, that’s fine.” Mickey knows Ian won’t believe that, even though it will be mostly true. Mickey’s not good with vulnerability, and he just opened himself up to Ian in a way he’s never opened himself up to anyone. _Even_ Ian. “But if you don’t want to do it because you think I don’t want to do it, then you’re an idiot.”

“Hey!” Ian opens his mouth, looking hurt. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“I can’t help it. It’s my natural state. Use it to your advantage.” Mickey takes Ian’s chin in his hand and makes him look at him. “I trust you.”

Blowing out a breath, Ian rolls his neck, looking away from Mickey. Mickey lets him, not wanting to force him into anything he’s not ready for. Which is fucking laughable, given that that’s exactly what Ian’s best at. “I don’t know if _I_ trust me.”

“I trust you enough for both of us.”

Ian sighs. “Can I think about it?”

“Yeah.” Mickey nods and gets up. “You want a beer?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Mickey goes into the kitchen, grabbing two beers out of the refrigerator. Before he can completely straighten up, Ian’s right behind him, pressing close. “Love you.”

“It’s just a beer, Gallagher.”

Ian laughs and presses a smacking kiss on Mickey’s cheek. “Asshole.”

**

Mickey comes home two weeks later and there’s a note on the door. It’s likely to be an eviction notice or something telling them the house has been condemned, but Ian’s handwriting is on the envelope. Mickey opens it with a frown, and then his eyebrows shoot up.

_Come inside. Lock the door. Close your eyes. Strip. Do as your told. I’ll be watching you._

“Oh, shit,” Mickey breathes, swallowing hard. “Holy shit.” 

He shoves the note in his coat pocket and unlocks the door. His hands are shaking and he feels like his blood is on fire. He walks inside the house and shuts the door. Locks it. He turns around to face the inside of the room and closes his eyes. He doesn’t try to pretend he’s got any skill at stripping for someone. Generally with him and Ian, if Ian’s not undressing Mickey, it’s a race to see who can get naked first. But he takes his time. 

It’s hard not to open his eyes. He wants to see Ian watching him. Wants to see Ian’s face. Instead he does as he’s told as he drops his boxers to the side. It’s cool in the living room and Mickey’s skin dimples with goosebumps. 

“On your knees.” It takes a moment for Mickey to catch his breath and sink down onto his knees. He tries to listen for Ian to figure out where he is in the room, but Ian’s being too quiet, too careful. “Hands behind your back. Lace your fingers together.”

Mickey nods and does it. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to speak, and that’s actually okay, because he’s not sure he has the ability. It’s hard enough to swallow, he can’t imagine forming words. He can feel the shift in the air as Ian walks up to him, taking Mickey’s chin in his hand and lifting his face.

“Look at me.” 

Mickey opens his eyes and meets Ian’s. He can see that Ian’s not as confident as he sounds, but Mickey bypasses all of that to just stare at him. Just the thought that Ian is doing this for him is beyond Mickey’s comprehension. He’d assumed the discussion was over and done with. And now this.

“If you say stop, it’s over.”

Mickey nods and licks his lips. “Y-yes, sir.”

Ian closes his eyes and inhales deeply, letting it drag his shoulders down as he exhales. “I say stop, it’s over.” Mickey swallows and nods again. “That’s what you want.” It’s not a question, which is good, because Mickey can’t answer a question right now. It’s not about what he wants. It’s about what Ian _tells_ him to want. Ian squats down and looks at Mickey. He’s still taller, still in command. “You want this. Don’t you?”

Mickey nods rapidly. It’s a command. Ian telling him what he wants. Mickey’s dick is already aching and he’s not sure how he’s going to last if Ian draws this out. Which Mickey’s pretty sure he’s going to do. Ian is _nothing_ if not thorough.

Ian releases Mickey’s jaw and straightens up, walking away from him. He gets over to the couch and turns back. “Crawl over here.”

It takes a moment for Mickey to remember how to unlace his fingers. His brain has shorted out so it’s just his basic functions running on his reptile reactions. He crawls to Ian, moving slowly. He knows that Ian likes his ass, so he makes sure to let it sway with every shift of his hips. When he gets to Ian’s side, he lowers his head and rests it on the top of Ian’s bare foot.

“Lie on your back.”

Mickey rolls over, eyes locked on Ian still. He’s not sure he could look away if he tried. Ian kneels down beside him and strokes his fingers from Mickey’s sternum to the small pool of pre-come that’s dripped onto his stomach. Ian looks at Mickey intently and Mickey’s chest is tight and hot and he’s never felt so fucking safe in his life.

“I bought some toys for us to play with.” Mickey whimpers and Ian’s smile spreads wider. “For me to play with. You’re one of my toys tonight, aren’t you?”

Mickey’s breath stutters out of him, and he’s not sure he can get another breath. He nods as best he can and Ian slides his hand back up, flicking one of Mickey’s nipples. Mickey bites his lower lip so he doesn’t make a sound, just in case Ian thinks he wants to stop. 

Ian flicks the nipple again then pinches it hard. Mickey’s hips rise up off the ground and his head falls back. Ian hums softly and then does the same thing to the other nipple. Mickey chokes on a noise and Ian pinches it again, fingernails digging in. Mickey’s hips and cock jerk, another drop of pre-come falling onto his skin. Ian glances down at it and frowns.

“Oh, no. That won’t do.” He gets up and goes to the coffee table, picking up a bag and setting it on the floor beside Mickey. “Spread your legs.”

Ian’s voice is coaxing, but it’s also got a hardness to it, a command. Mickey hated when Ian was in ROTC because it was time Mickey didn’t get to spend with him – not that he’d have admitted he wanted to back then – but right now he’s grateful as fuck for it, because Ian sounds authoritative. In charge.

Ian kneels between Mickey’s spread legs. He takes some of Mickey’s pubic hair between two fingers then twists and tugs. Mickey gasps and his dick contracts slightly from the pain. “I’ve barely even started. You’re going to have to be ready for more than that.”

Mickey nods again, breathing fast and desperate. He wants everything. Anything that Ian will give him. Ian’s fingers are stroking up and down Mickey’s thighs, scratching lightly. Ian’s looking at him like he’s trying to decide what he should do. Mickey can think of a hundred things he’d do right now if Ian asked. 

“Wider.” It takes Mickey’s brain a moment to catch up and then he spreads his legs wider apart. His hips twinge slightly and Ian smiles at his reaction. “Feet on the floor.”

Mickey does as he’s told, unable to keep himself from raising his ass off the floor, hoping for Ian to touch him. He doesn’t want it over this soon, but his body’s not listening so well. Ian looks in the bag, completely ignoring Mickey once he sees that Mickey’s done as he said.

“The girl at the shop said I had a very lucky boyfriend.” Ian pulls something out and Mickey can’t see, even though he tries. “Do you think she was right, Mickey?”

“Y-yes. Yes. Yes, sir.” He doesn’t recognize his own voice, doesn’t recognize the quivering sound. “Yes.”

“Hm.” Ian wraps his hand around the base of Mickey’s balls. “I think my boyfriend is the lucky one. Don’t you?”

“Yes. Oh, god. Yes, sir. So...so lucky. I-I’m so lucky. So...You’re so good to me.”

“Good to each other. Good for each other.” Ian squeezes lightly and Mickey makes a noise high in his throat. “Tonight though. Tonight you _belong_ to me. Don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes.” Mickey takes in a shuddering breath and gasps as Ian’s hand is replaced something cold. “O-oh fuck.”

Ian doesn’t respond. A metal bar presses on the top and underneath Mickey’s balls as Ian adjusts the screws on the side. “Now.” Ian leans forward, bracing himself over Mickey. He looks down and smiles wickedly. “Now we can start.”

Mickey feels like he’s going to fall apart at those four words. Ian says them so calmly and firmly that Mickey can’t stop the full-body shiver that courses through him. He can’t imagine what he looks like, what he looks like to Ian. 

“On your knees.”

Mickey has to figure out how to move, how to twist his body with the clamp on his balls. It aches and feels heavy, an opposing force to his dick which is erect, brushing his stomach as he manages to make it to his knees. He’s lightheaded and he sways slightly until Ian’s hand fists in his hair and stills him. Mickey looks up at Ian, lips parted, breath rough. 

“Suck me.”

Mickey presses his forehead against Ian’s crotch, breathing against him through the denim. His arms seem to weigh too much, so it’s difficult to lift them, to undo Ian’s belt, his jeans. Too difficult and finally Ian slaps his hands away. 

“Do I have to do everything?” He grabs Mickey by the hair again and pulls him back. It only takes Ian one hand to get his jeans undone and pushed down mid-thigh. He’s not wearing underwear and Mickey doesn’t recognize the sound that comes out of him when Ian frees his dick and rubs the head of it over Mickey’s lips. “Suck.”

Mickey does, taking Ian deep. His throat is dry from breathing heavily, but the taste of pre-come in his mouth causes him to swallow around Ian. Ian rolls his hips slowly as Mickey finds a rhythm. He wants to grab Ian’s hips, but his hands and arms are still heavy and clumsy so he moves them behind his back, wrapping his fingers around one wrist. Ian hums a pleased sound and Mickey takes him deeper

“Look at me.”

Mickey looks up, eyes half closed. There’s a soft sound and somewhere in the back of Mickey’s brain he realizes that Ian’s taking pictures of him sucking his dick. Taking pictures of Mickey’s lips wrapped around Ian’s cock, stretched tight and spit in the corners. He moans and wants more, trying to get as close to Ian as possible, take as much of him as he can. 

“So filthy with your mouth, Mick. Take it all, don’t you. Take it all and beg for more.” 

Mickey whines as Ian’s hand tightens in his hair enough that it hurts. It’s everything Mickey wants, but Ian’s right. He wants more. He looks up again and Ian takes another picture then tosses his phone aside. He grips the other side of Mickey’s head and starts thrusting, pushing hard and deep, fucking Mickey’s mouth the way he fucks his ass. Tears leak down Mickey’s flushed cheeks and Ian’s dick hits the back of his throat. His muscles constrict around him and Ian’s hands slide to the back of Mickey’s head, not letting him move at all as Ian keeps thrusting. 

Mickey’s face is hot and his vision is blurry with tears, with surrender. He gags when Ian comes, the hot rush of it filling his mouth. His body reacts, muscles tensing, and the ache in his balls flares up. He sucks Ian down in the place of a moan. Ian pulls back and releases Mickey’s head and Mickey tips back, sitting on his heels in an effort not to fall over completely. 

Ian tugs up his jeans, leaving them undone and grabs his camera again, taking a picture of Mickey. Mickey’s head is back, his lashes fluttering, and his chest is heaving. He’s swaying slightly again and his vision is blue at the edges. Ian walks over and grabs his chin forcing Mickey to look at him. Mickey feels drugged and electric all at once, exhausted and euphoric.

Ian reaches out and eases Mickey’s hands from behind his back, grabbing them and helping Mickey to his feet. Mickey stumbles forward against Ian’s chest, and Ian carefully strokes Mickey’s hair and lets him lean on him. “You’re so gorgeous, Mick.”

Mickey shivers and tries to press closer. Ian moves his hand down to stroke lines down Mickey’s spine. Mickey tilts his head up and presses a wet, messy kiss to the underside of Ian’s jaw and lets his head fall back on Ian’s shoulder.

“Hmm. Taking liberties.”

“Mm?” Mickey can’t actually talk, can’t process thoughts, but the change in Ian’s tone sends heat down his spine. 

“First you can’t do as your told, and now you think you can do whatever you want? You should know better than that.” Mickey mewls softly as Ian pulls away, catching Mickey’s hand and leading him stumbling the few steps to the couch. He stops when Mickey’s beside it and grabs the back of his neck, forcing him down over the arm. 

Mickey’s knees buckle slightly and his whole body jerks as the fabric scrapes along his cock. Something red and hot flares in his vision and all his weight falls forward onto his arms. He goes up on his toes, keeping distance between his cock and the upholstery, dropping his head forward when Ian’s hand slides over his ass.

“Look at you.” Ian practically purrs the words as his hand moves over, his fingers running along the crevice. “So ready for it. For me. Aren’t you?”

Mickey nods desperately. He tries to say please, tries to beg, but he can’t make his mouth work. It’s swollen from Ian’s cock and his throat aches too much to say anything, even if he could. He tries to lift up higher as Ian strokes the other cheek in small circles. He traces the scars from the shotgun and Mickey groans roughly. The skin doesn’t feel any different, but the caress of Ian’s fingers does. It’s light and careful, sensitive then it’s gone and the flat of Ian’s hand slaps against Mickey’s ass.

It forces the breath out of Mickey like a punch and he nearly chokes on it. “That what you want?” Ian leans forward to breathe the words into Mickey’s ear. “Want me to beat your ass red? Put you in your place?”

Mickey rises on his toes, pushing his ass up against the hand Ian has resting on it. He nods, still trying to get his breath back.

“Or should I not? Just torment you knowing I could but won’t? Or just leave you wondering. Wonder if every touch might be _that_ one?”

Mickey whimpers, and tries to press up higher. 

“Know you’ve been bad, don’t you? Know you need to be punished.”

“Yes,” Mickey manages to choke out. “Fuck. Please.” Ian rubs his hand lightly over the cheek he’d slapped then squeezes it. Mickey swallows the sound that threatens, and he can’t relax. His whole body stays tense as he waits.

Ian moves behind Mickey, hands on his ass, rubbing and squeezing. Mickey starts to relax, tensing again when Ian pulls his hands away. They come back after just a few moments, soothing and rubbing again. Mickey’s finally loosening up when Ian moves his hands back again.

Mickey takes a deep breathe and blows it out. He finishes with his exhale then sucks in a surprised breath when Ian smacks him hard. He coughs on the rush of air, but Ian doesn’t stop. He smacks Mickey hard again then changes sides, slapping one cheek until it feels like it’s on fire, then he moves to the other, occasionally letting his fingers land over the crack of Mickey’s ass.

Mickey’s fighting to suck in breath. His cock aches where it keeps sliding against the arm of the sofa, feeling as red and hot as his ass. Even the leaking slick of pre-come doesn’t help, the wetness on the fabric almost worse.

“That enough?” Ian’s breathless, huffing out the words. “You had enough?”

Even through the haze of pain glowing purple behind Mickey’s eyes, he can hear the real question in Ian’s voice. Mickey’s not sure he can answer. Words feel beyond him, so he reaches back and grabs for Ian’s wrist. Ian seems to understand and his pulse quickens under Mickey’s fingers. 

“Mick?”

Mickey nods and guides Ian’s hand back to his ass, pressing it hard against it. The pressure makes Mickey moan, and he pushes harder on Ian’s hand.

“Fuck, Mickey.” Ian’s voice shakes. He frees his hand from Mickey’s grip, and Mickey waits for the next smack, but instead he hears a quiet clink followed by the almost slithering sound of Ian’s belt sliding from his jeans.

Mickey doesn’t recognize the sound he makes. All he knows is that just the thought of Ian’s belt on him makes his body jerk, his balls tighten.

“Yeah?” Ian asks, and his voice shakes. He presses close and Mickey can feel Ian’s hard on against the back of his thigh. Knowing that Ian’s turned on by this, turned on _again_ , is almost enough to make Mickey come, but he tightens his muscles in a fight to stay in control.

Ian moves back and the belt whistles through the air. When it smacks against Mickey’s ass his vision sparks red and his legs give out. He comes despite the clamp, his cock trapped between his body and the arm of the sofa. Tears sting his eyes and he might let out a sob because his throat feels raw. His whole body feels raw, open and exposed.

Ian wraps an arm around Mickey’s waist and eases him off the couch. Ian has sunk down onto his knees behind Mickey, and Mickey’s skin flares as he settles on Ian’s jean-clad legs. “I’ve got you.” Mickey hears the hitch in Ian’s voice, the echo of tears thick and rough. “I’ve got you, Mick.”

“God. G-god,” Mickey manages to choke through his haze. Everything is still bathed in color – red and blue and purple skating at the edge of his vision.

Ian turns Mickey’s head and nuzzles his cheek. “I’ve got you.” He’s still holding Mickey, wrapping his other arm around him so that Mickey’s enveloped against him. “You’re okay.”

Mickey seeks out Ian’s mouth, his attempt at a kiss wet and sloppy. He still can’t catch his breath, so it doesn’t last long. Ian breaks it and pulls back slowly. He’s still holding Mickey close, still nuzzling him. Mickey’s heartbeat slows gradually and he starts to relax against Ian.

“There you go. Okay?” Ian asks softly. It’s a different sound, a question rather than reassurance.

“Fu-. Fuck.” Mickey’s laugh shivers out of him. “Yeah. Yeah. ‘m good. Good.”

“Sure?”

“Need...” Mickey lets out another shuddering breath. “T-take care of you.”

“I’m okay.” 

“Suck you.” Mickey pulls away, pushing past Ian’s arms, though Ian’s hands are the only thing that keep him from falling face-down on the floor.

“Mick...”

Mickey ignores him and crawls away just enough that he can turn around. His muscles are still shaking and, thankfully, Ian’s jeans are already undone. Mickey nuzzles at Ian’s open fly until he lies back and Mickey works his dick free. Mickey takes Ian in his mouth, swallowing him deep.

Ian moans roughly, hips thrusting up. Mickey sucks hard, closing his eyes so all he can feel and taste is Ian. Everything is too much, every nerve ending feels fried, like the slightest touch will make him shatter.

“Fuck. Fuck. Christ, Mickey.” Ian’s arching off the floor, thrusting deep into Mickey’s mouth, the head of his cock hitting the back of Mickey’s throat. Mickey keeps sucking, keeps swallowing until Ian gives a low cry and his body goes rigid, his cock pulsing between Mickey’s lips. Mickey doesn’t stop, moving his tongue and throat until Ian’s begging, body shaking as much as Mickey’s.

Mickey eases off Ian’s dick and collapses to the floor, head on Ian’s thigh, his breath shallow and quick. Ian’s hand curves along Mickey’s head, resting there for a moment before he starts to card his fingers through Mickey’s hair.

“Jesus.”

Mickey hums, still floating somewhere outside of himself, pushing into Ian’s touch like a cat. He turns his head slightly, careful not to break contact and kisses Ian’s thigh. Ian scratches Mickey’s scalp and Mickey hums again. The endorphins are starting to wear off, and the first real pinpricks of pain are surfacing. Reaction shivers down his spine and he groans. “Fuck.”

Ian puts his hands under Mickey’s arms and pulls him up onto his chest. He wraps his arms around Mickey’s back, hands warm on his sweaty skin. “Okay?” Ian murmurs into Mickey’s hair.

“Yeah.” Mickey huffs a rough laugh. “Really fucking okay.” He rubs his hand over Ian’s chest, the fabric of his t-shirt soft and worn. “Thank you.” He’s not used to saying the words, and they feel foreign in his mouth.

“Thank _you_.”

“What for?” Mickey asks, his brow furrowing.

“Trusting me.”

Mickey laughs. “To slap my ass?”

“No, asshole.” Ian presses his face into Mickey’s hair. “To take care of you.”

Mickey looks up at him for a minute then stretches up to kiss him softly. “You always take care of me, Ian.”

Ian smiles against Mickey’s kiss. “I think it’s mutual.”

“Always with the last fucking word,” Mickey grouses as he presses closer.

Even though he can’t see it, Mickey can feel Ian’s grin. “Yep.”


End file.
